All Falls Down
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: Just when Juice Ortiz's life falls completely in place with his new wife and new, legal income stream, the rug is yanked from under him. The charmed life he and Kyra have lived is turned on its head and now as a married couple, they're forced to confront the harsh realities of life in SAMCRO. Kyra/Juice AU series. Weaves in events from season 4.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hi! This is the next long form installment of the Kyra/Juice series. It follows the Sweetest Taboo-Evolution of Kyra James-Two Days Later story line. _**

**_Since the reveal about Juice's ethnicity in season four, I've thought long and hard about how I wanted to weave it into the Kyra/Juice story. It's a juicy tidbit (no pun intended), being that here we see Juice in a relationship with a black woman. I've just never been quite sure how I wanted to do it. Season Four of SOA was a lot darker than what I write and I wasn't sure if I could (or wanted to) go that dark in this series. But as SOA becomes progressively darker, it's become difficult for me to keep things light and happy for Kyra and Juice. Also, in the last two seasons, they've written Juice as more naive than I do (I have difficulty buying that Sons would've patched Juice if he was always so obviously soft), so I was unsure of how to approach that in my writing. _**

**_So I've decided to tackle some bits and pieces of season four events in my AU SAMCRO where Kyra and Juice exist. I spent a lot of time asking how my version of Juice would tackle some of the obstacles the character met that season. And also wondering how Kyra factors into things. How does being a married man affect Juice's decision making? How much compromise is Kyra willing to do with the SAMCRO world becoming more dangerous? I'm still asking these questions as I write this story. I'm just going to take it chapter by chapter and see where it goes. _**

**_Thanks for coming back for this next installation in the series. I've loved everyone's support for Kyra and Juice so far! _**

**_Read. Enjoy. Review. Share. _**

**_- SBG _**

**Prolgue**

The brakes on the Teller-Morrow pick up were shot. Garage full of mechanics who drove the damn thing everyday and no one took the simple hour and a half to switch out the fucking brakes. They screeched every time Juice stopped the truck, causing the chains he'd laid in the flatbed to rattle and slam around in the back. He wondered when he'd pull over. He wanted to get a good distance outside of Charming before stopping. Maybe about ten miles into Lodi, he'd start looking at wooded areas for a place to stop.

His thoughts sounded like the rattling and clanking in the back of the truck._ Nigger. Rat. Drug pusher. Liar. Dead man. Nigger. Rat. Drug pusher. Liar. Dead man_. The words played in an endless loop, causing his temples to throb. He reached across the empty passenger seat for a half empty bottle of Maker's Mark and caught a glance at the freshly sewn "Man of Mayhem" patch on his cut. He took a hard swig from his bottle and forced his eyes away from the cut. He'd hoped to find some scripts laying around the clubhouse before he left. Maybe some percs or codeine. He thought he'd at least find some Adderall-Miles and Rat loved that shit-but came up empty, so he grabbed the chains instead. The whiskey, he hoped, would numb some of the pain.

There was no way around it. He was fucked. With the club. With the cops. With his wife. Fuck. His wife. He was barely used to calling her that. Two weeks after eloping, he should've still been chasing her around their house, instead of trying to avoid her eyes so she wouldn't pick up on the things he kept from her-the coke muling for Galindo, the threat from that prick Roosevelt, his real father's identity. He maybe could've gotten away with dropping one or two pieces of the shit heap on her, but the sum of it would have her calling up Lowen for an annulment by the end of the week.

As he turned off an exit ramp, he saw flashes of his wedding night. Carrying his and Kyra's bags into the Palms. The cream satin material on the dress she wore. The pink shimmery stuff on her lips as they exchanged vows in the chapel-the chapel where, Kyra bragged, Michael and Juanita Jordan got married. When the officiant said "You may now kiss the bride," they kissed longer and deeper than what was appropriate, but his lips and hands moved on their own accord. She wasn't much better, devouring his lips in such a way that no one watching them had to guess why she'd skipped a white dress.

While the ceremony played in flashes, what happened after was more like a movie scene. In their hotel room, after they'd popped the champagne, after his first time exploring her body as her husband, after they were both spent and short of breath, Kyra hopped suddenly out of bed. "Wait," she'd said, fumbling through her luggage. "We forgot something."

Juice sat up, his peripheral vision landing on the tattoo of her name across his chest, causing him to smile and look down at his wedding band. He watched her pull her iPhone out of her bag and scan the room. "What are you looking for?"

"Somewhere to plug this in. Get up. And put on your shorts."

"Wha-"

"Juan," she interrupted. "Husband," she followed with a grin. "Just do it."

He obeyed. She found a speaker dock next to the television and slipped into the black Ralph Lauren button down shirt she'd bought him for the ceremony. He frowned a little as she buttoned the dark cotton over her bare breasts. Her nipples looked like Hershey's Kisses and he'd just been thinking about taking one of them into his mouth.

A familiar smooth jazz instrumental filled the room as he stood in the middle of the floor, watching her barefoot two step toward him, the spirals that she'd styled her hair in earlier now limp from sweat and being pressed against the sheets. He knew immediately she was playing Sade, but she listened to so much of the stuff that he could never tell which song was which. He chuckled. "First dance?"

She nodded as she danced closer to him, lacing her fingers behind his neck as Sade's mellow croon played through the speakers._ "If I tell you, if I tell you how I feel, will you keep bringing out the best in me..."_ He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him until their pelvises touched. He knew she could do some amazing things with her hips, but was grateful that she kept the pace simple and easy to follow. Their hips swayed together as she threw her head back and looked in his eyes. They twinkled as she sang along _"You give me the sweeeetest tabooo. Sometimes I think you're just too good for me..."_ As they danced, she sang the line over and over, her voice blending in with the music as her dark brown eyes stared into his. _"You've got the biggest heart, sometimes I think you're just too good for me..."_

He sat in the pickup truck and stared into the crisp night, blinking through blurred vision. He didn't have to touch his face to know that tears were dotting his cheeks. Because two weeks ago the most amazing woman he'd ever known pledged her life to him, with the belief that he was too good for her. He knew, even as she sang, that wasn't the case. It was him who was lucky. She, that was too good for him. At least two weeks ago, he had a lifetime to become the man worthy of the adoration in her eyes as she serenaded him on their wedding night. But as he stared at the large Redwood tree in front of the truck, he knew whether or not he strung that chain up on the Redwood tree, he'd never be that man.

_Nigger. Rat. Drug pusher. Liar. Dead man. Nigger. Rat. Drug pusher. Liar. Dead man._

Juice laid his head on the steering wheel and sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

_I can't believe I left my bed for this shit_, Juice thought as he fiddled with his lighter at the table. His eyes wandered over the Reaper carved into the Redwood. In the background, Clay and Jax made their case for muling coke for the Galindo Cartel. Coke? This was the urgent vote that cut the last day of his honeymoon short? He knew he wasn't the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knew a dumb move when he saw one. Drugs would bring heat. From cops. From other crews. Not to mention Feds. Shit, they were still all on probation. Drug charges would send them all right back to Stockton, probably for life. "This puts us on the DEA's radar," he added as they discussed the deal. Piney was right. What the fuck made Jax and Clay think they could get in bed with a cartel short term? If they needed big gun business to keep the Irish happy, they could always find more clientele. On top of that, hadn't they spent years kicking the shit out of loser Nords dealing in Charming? How the fuck was this any different?

Chair legs scraping the floor pulled him from his thoughts. He tuned in to the action in the room: Jax laying stacks of money down the side of the table where Juice sat. Each bundle of cash announced itself against the wood with a "thud."

"That's our down payment for the first order." Jax said. "Seven hundred grand."

Juice rolled his eyes, trying not to stare at the line of bills. He put his head down on the table, hoping that if he didn't look too hard at the money, he wouldn't be seduced by it. They'd had a good thing going with the Irish since leaving Stockton a year and a half ago. His expenses had always been so low that he was good cash wise, but the new guns from the Irish had him banking a pretty penny. And since his new wife didn't allow too much of his "side money" as she called it to account for their expenses, he'd been saving all his gun earnings. And he was in the process of becoming part owner in Clear Passages, a shop that would sell colonic services and medical marijuana. He and Kyra were good. Still, the club had never seen this kind of cash before. _Yeah. We never ran coke before either._

Clay adjourned the meeting, with a vote on the drugs scheduled to happen later on in the day. God, he hoped no one tried to campaign him on behalf of this shit. He knew how Clay and Jax could be when they wanted their way and he didn't want to be bothered. Shit was a bad idea. Bad for the club. Bad for his life.

The chapel doors opened and the guys all shuffled out into the clubhouse. Gemma, who from what Juice could tell had been waiting at the bar, hopped off a stool and made a beeline for him. He didn't have time to figure out what he could've done to piss her off before she was standing in front of him, demanding to see his left hand. She inspected his newly-ringed finger and sent a swift smack to the side of his head. "I can't believe you little shits eloped." Her voice sliced through the tension released from drug talk in the chapel.

"He did what?!" Bobby, who'd been within earshot at the bar asked.

"Your bride sent this," Gemma held up her phone, showing off a picture of he and Kyra's ringed hands that he remembered taking in bed after the ceremony.

Juice scratched the back of his neck. About a week into their engagement, Kyra confessed that she didn't want a big wedding. After losing her mother to cancer seven years ago, she never imagined she'd get close enough to anyone to get married. She didn't want their nuptials to be bittersweet; didn't want to be distracted by her mother's absence, so they agreed to cut the engagement short and elope as soon as possible. They'd told everyone they were heading down to San Diego for a few days. Instead, they'd spent three days and two nights in Vegas, having married their first night. "Yeah, we kinda stopped in Vegas on the way to the beach and..." he waved his left hand above his head.

It started with Kozik's "No shit, Juicey! Congrats!" and turned into a barrage of back slaps and best wishes.

"Lucky bastard," Opie said. "Wish I coulda saved all the money I spent getting these assholes full and drunk at my wedding."

It wasn't long before everyone had a shot glass, with Chibs behind the bar, leading a toast. "Don't know how ya did it, kid, but you managed to snag a beautiful wife. Congratulations, young brother. Here here!"

Juice nodded his thanks, surveying the room full of smiling faces and clinking glasses. It was hard to believe that just five minutes ago, they'd all been staring each other down, bickering over becoming drug mules. He hoped the Galindo deal didn't pass. On top of not wanting to deal in drugs, he had no idea how the hell to explain that shit to Kyra without the lid coming off their house. But knowing that even when divided by the tension of a tough vote, they could all unite to congratulate him on his marriage reminded him of why he loved SAMCRO. He'd ride out whatever decision they made; even if he hated it.

-0-

He didn't know if he loved it more when Kyra dressed up, in her pencil skirts and heels or when she dressed down like she was today, in hip-hugging Levi's and a pair of vintage Air Jordans. He just knew that he thoroughly enjoyed watching the movement of her hips, no matter what she wore. The running habit she'd picked up in the last few months was paying off and even down fifteen pounds, her ass maintained its softness with its new definition. When he tore his eyes from her curves, he saw her busy brain making calculations as she toured Clear Passages and chatted up customers. She didn't take the idea seriously at first. "A colonic and weed shop?" she'd asked as she poured a glass of wine after dinner a few nights before they left for Vegas. But Juice was dead serious. She'd been on him about finding a legal funnel for some of his gun money, and after visiting Clear Passages to do some freelance IT work a month ago, he'd become intrigued by the business, even moreso after he got a colonic and felt a new goddamn man. "You have a chance to look over the books?" he asked as she perused the marijuana menus.

"Yeah," she replied, pushing up the sleeves on her fitted red hoodie. "Crazy as this shit is, on paper, it's not a bad investment. Projected to even turn a decent profit this year, which is damn near unheard of in the first three years of a small business."

Juice nodded. "So I have your blessing on this?"

She was still looking at the menu, her index finger paused over the piece of recycled green cardstock. "Well, that depends. Would I be able to sample some of this green tea mint before I give my recommendation?"

"I don't know. Can I see your card? We require prescriptions for the sell of our medical marijuana, ma'am."

Kyra glanced up at him, her brown eyes dancing slyly down the down the hall. "I think I left it in one of those empty exam rooms. Gotta minute to help me find it?"

He chuckled. It looked like he wasn't the only one still in honeymoon mode. Especially after the bullshit at the clubhouse this morning, some afternoon relief was in order. "For you? I can make it at least ten minutes."

"Fuck, Kyra," he said, gripping her hips and she straddled him in the chair. She leaned back and grinned as she rolled on top of him, pushing him deeper inside her. Juice was doing his best to hold on, but between the weed they'd smoked before getting started and the way her depths fit so perfectly around him, he was a stroke away from screaming. To occupy his mouth, he leaned forward, pulling her body to his and biting her neck. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he reached down and cupped her ass before landing a firm slap on the left cheek. Kyra whimpered, her movements intensifying, and he knew she was right on the brink.

"You cummin' for me?" he whispered, his tongue gliding delicately under her ear. When she didn't answer, he squeezed her ass again, matching her grind with a hard thrust. "Huh?"

She rested her cheek next to one of the lightning bolt tattoos on his head. "Shit, Juice." Gripping his shoulders, she rocked harder against him. When the quivering started in her thighs, he pulled her body as close to his as he could and held her there, pushing until he felt his own orgasm rumble through him. They were still for a moment, catching their respective breaths and riding out the remaining shivers before Kyra let out a sigh. "Gotdamn, Mr. Ortiz."

He leaned his head back against the chair and smiled at the sight of her disheveled hair and caramel skin flushed red. "Likewise, Mrs. Ortiz."

"Look at you, getting a kick out of being married," she replied, reaching up to fix what had become a messy ponytail of loose spirals as she sat up to pull their bodies apart.

Fiddling with the bottom of her black tank top, Juice chuckled. "Maybe a little. So what've you got going on for the rest of the day?"

"Lunch with Tara. Probably run to the grocery store. Oh, and I forgot. Gemma and Neeta wanna do a dinner for us tonight. And they're not taking no for an answer, either."

Juice recalled his run-in with Gemma at the clubhouse. Which reminded him of the pending vote later. A dinner celebrating his marriage would suck if the club voted in favor of a decision that would potentially ruin it. "We have Church tonight, but we'll be there after."

She sensed his change in mood. "Everything okay?"

"Tough vote coming up, but it'll be alright."

But it wasn't alright. Because twenty minutes after he kissed his wife good-bye and wished her a good rest of her day, he was pinned to the wall of Clear Passages with handcuffs locked around his wrists. "Terms of your federal release aren't up yet," that asshole Lieutenant Roosevelt said, knocking his marijuana prescription card to the ground. "Federal law trumps state. And you're in illegal possession of marijuana." It was bullshit, and as the quiet shops of downtown Charming whizzed by through the barred windows of the police car, Juice had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that between this and the Galindo vote, shit was about to be anything but alright.


End file.
